


wax and wane

by reddoorandlemontree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I'll add more tags as i go, New York City, and they were ROOMMATES, flicker fade the remix, idiots with crushes who are idiots, slightly underaged drinking wooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddoorandlemontree/pseuds/reddoorandlemontree
Summary: a modern au in which dany flees her circumstances and finds herself with an increasingly intriguing new roommate
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Ygritte (temporarily)
Comments: 125
Kudos: 345





	1. Chapter 1

_**28 September** _

“Fuck.” Of all the things Jon’s landlord refuses to fix, the front door’s tendency to never fucking open at the most inconvenient times has got to be the most annoying. He tries the key again, twisting and pushing the knob for good measure, but the door doesn’t budge. Sam, his soon to be ex-roommate, is probably asleep at this ungodly hour but he has no option but to try his number.

Just as he pulls out his phone, the door is yanked open from inside and he breathes a sigh of relief except… instead of Sam’s pudgy, weary, sleep-creased face, he’s met with cool blue eyes lined with pale lashes blinking against the harsh light of the hallway and full pink lips pouted in a frown.

Involuntarily his eye’s shift down to find that her Mets shirt ( _Really? The Mets?_ ) ends midthigh with nothing but leg to follow. Honestly, though, he hopes she knows it’s only motivated by needing to identify her and figure out what the hell she’s doing in his apartment.

But as he glances from her bare legs and back up to her mussed up hair — which looks like spun silver, by the way — his mind jumps to the only possible conclusion conceivable.

And by the way her eyes widen when his peer from her to Sam’s bedroom door behind her, she seems to pick up on the panic sirens slowly getting louder in his brain.

“Woah! No! I’m not— Sam and I weren’t— _aren’t_ doing _that_!” she stammers out, bewildered at the implication.

“Oh thank God,” he huffs, followed by a laugh at the brief thought that he’d left for _one_ week and Sam, who’d taken months to work up the courage to talk to Gilly, had managed to pull _her_ let alone cheated on Gilly. Still, the question of why she’s in his apartment at 3:00 in the morning stands.

“Who—”

“I’m a—”

They speak up at the same time, giving way to a fit of awkward laughing as he motions for her to go first.

“I’m assuming you’re Jon?”

“That’s me.”

She opens the door wider to let him in — yes, into his own apartment — and, once he’s rolled his carry-on against the wall, sticks her hand out to shake his. “I’m Dany, your new roommate.” Her smile and handshake are relaxed and sure while he remains just as disoriented.

“I’m sorry I don’t… I had no idea Sam found someone to take up his lease.”

“Oh.” She — _Dany_ — freezes mid-shake and it takes a moment for them to realize they’re really just holding hands at this point before he retracts his clumsily. “I thought Sam must’ve told you. I found your listing and spoke to him a couple of days ago but I needed a place to live as soon as possible and he was just an angel about it. I hope you don’t mind me crashing on your couch until he moves out.” Her previous confidence falters as she crosses her arms over her chest and glances back at the boxes and luggage bags he’s just noticed taking up his little living room.

As much as she tries to mask it with a laugh that’s more of a sigh, Jon senses anxiety in the way her hands rub at her arms and attempts to amend it immediately. “No, that’s completely fine! He probably tried to let me know but I didn’t have much service on the road so… and it’s just a matter of a week or two anyway.”

He punctuates with an easy smile that he’s glad she returns.

The real reason why he hadn’t been able to speak to Sam much, otherwise known as Ygritte, will _not_ be happy once she learns his new roommate is of the female persuasion. After a week of her taking every chance she can get to piss him off, though, the thought of pissing her off back, and in a much more lasting way at that, is almost exciting.

In the following days, he comes to learn that her full name is Daenerys Targaryen — and “Yes, the same Targaryens whose name is plastered onto half the buildings in the city and the occasional street too,” she’d recited in a manner that told him it was something she has to reiterate often.

A descendent of infamous steel tycoon Aegon Targaryen, she’s a girl with an upbringing that could rival goddamn royals but barely anything to her name now. She left her penthouse on Park Fucking Avenue for their shabby little excuse of a walk-up in Morningside Heights to get away from a dickhead brother she doesn’t much like discussing. She’s a sophomore at Columbia like him, majoring in public administration where he’s doing sociology with a minor in education. And she likes her eggs over-easy in the morning.

~

_**6 October** _

$800 for a single room just three blocks from all of her classes had sounded like a _dream_ when Dany’d first found the listing but she quickly learns why it had been so cheap in a sea of rooms that pushed the thousands.

The single AC wall unit does nothing to help the surprisingly hot weather, just drips water and destroys the already fucked-up hardwood flooring of the living room; their landlord, Alliser, is the “reason why guillotines need to make a comeback” (Jon’s words) and thinks painting over the rusting metal of the bathtub will fix it; the kitchen has as much walking room as her old coat closet with the only form of ventilation being a 1950s exhaust fan that doesn’t even work; the water heater seems to be from the same era seeing as it takes an hour for the hot water to return if Jon or Sam shower before her; and the only window in her bedroom is about three feet away from the brick exterior of the adjacent building.

And really, had it not been for her roommate, she would’ve torn up the lease and bolted for a comfy Central Park bench but somehow it’s not so bad with Jon (and Sam, though she sees him less and less as he begins moving his stuff into his new apartment with his girlfriend).

Besides the fact that just looking at him has her drooling, he’s surprisingly congenial and even _funny_ in his dry, sarcastic way under that broody exterior. Sure, she can appreciate the sight of the muscles in his arms when he reaches up to tie his unbelievably perfect head of hair back, and maybe his ass deserves an exhibit at the MET or the MoMA or the — hell, it should have its own museum — but honestly, she’s never just _clicked_ with something so easily.

Most of her “friends” growing up had been her peers at Trinity who didn’t know the difference between competitor and companion and some snobbish Upper East Side girls who would probably commit homicide over a cotillion dress. Dany wishes she could say she was better than them all but really, she owes the fact that she’s slightly more in touch with reality to Irri, a scholarship student, and her friends Rakharo and Doreah. Her father had a rather _creative_ way of putting it as he often used to mutter about her preference for “ _roaming about like a delinquent with those street rats you call friends,_ ” oblivious to the fact that she mostly did so to get away from him and Viserys. Then freshmen year of college, she’d met the (platonic) love of her life, Missandei, an international student from Barbados, and that’s the best she’d hit it off with anyone before _Jon_ , of all people.

She’d wished she could have lived with Missandei but the on-campus housing application had been due ages before her spontaneous disappearance from home. Instead, Dany ( _extensively_ ) gushes about her new roommate to her, as is obligatory.

There’s really no way to describe it though. It’s just the easiness in the little things, like how they can both go about their 12.5 sq. ft. kitchen without having to coordinate it out loud and quickly decide what to have for dinner and which trash television show to watch while eating it. They can banter about stupid things for hours too, the latest topic of discussion being his massive hair care product collection of course. It’s really just a bonus that he isn’t the worst to look at.

“He’s really that cute? Didn’t you say he was five-foot-eight-ish?” Missandei inquires at brunch after she’d helped Dany move into Sam’s now-old room

It earns her an overpriced blueberry to the forehead before Dany sighs and responds with a dramatically grievous, “Yes, yes he is.”

Her parade, however, is not only rained on but also stormed on, stomped on, and found dead in a ditch in Miami when she returns home that day to find a redhead all but curled up in Jon’s lap on the sofa.

It quickly becomes clear that she had been just as oblivious to Dany’s existence as Dany had been to hers. With a smile on her face that’s probably meant for Sam, she glances back from the TV only for that smile to slowly melt into a scowl. Even from this angle, she knows Jon is wincing by the way his head drops to the crook of her neck.

A painfully polite greeting ensues wherein his goddamn _girlfriend_ doesn’t even attempt to mask the contempt in her expression. Promptly, Dany pretends to go grab something from her room then excuses herself (to go cry about it to Missandei, probably), sensing a fight coming and knowing that the walls are too thin for her to not overhear the whole thing.

Just as the heavy front door squeaks shut behind her, a screeched “What the _fuck_?” escapes into the hallway and Dany decides that she doesn’t much like this Ygritte girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorryyyy if you were a fan of flicker, fade but i just find that story so cringey now and couldn't bring myself to write more for it but i did promise to write something v similar so here she is!! it is more fast paced and idk how i feel about this chapter because it's a bit different than my usual style but i just wanted to get it out so i could go write the more fun parts coming up eeeeeeeee.  
> let me know what you think!!! <33333


	2. Chapter 2

_**11 October** _

Jon’s apartment is rarely the place he and his friends meet to watch games and he doesn’t think he’s ever been gladder for it.

The Giants had won 31-17 to the Cardinals but he can’t even celebrate his team when, out of the four other guys in his living room, Edd is the only one with any fucking decency. Well, Satin too but he doesn’t count because he’s been too busy hitting on Jon instead. However, Grenn and Pyp, at their big age, are acting like Dany is the first girl they’ve ever encountered.

Pyp is mostly harmless; he’s just turned into her personal house elf for the evening. When Dany refuses the beer he offers her, Pyp stumbles over himself in his haste to insist, “If you don’t like beer, I can go grab you something else,” and then, “You sure? Trust me, it’s no problem at all!” But Jon knows what he really means is, “ _The only liquor store that I know will sell to me is just a not-so-short ride on the B line away but what the hell, I’d buy the place out for you if you asked me to and would even grab you some fucking peonies while I’m at it_.”

Grenn, on the other hand, is a borderline _creep_. Being from Paterson and all, he’s the biggest Giants fan Jon knows and yet the perv spends more time stealing glances at Dany than actually watching the game. At halftime, when everyone else piles into the kitchen to load more junk onto their plates, he even has the nerve to turn to Jon and insist, “C’mon man, you have _got_ to put me on.”

With a curt, slightly disgusted, “No, dude,” Jon doesn’t, of course. He can’t decipher exactly why it’s weird but it’s _weird_ to try to set his friend up with his new roommate who happens to be _way_ out of his league on every level there is. If she rejects him — or worse, if she doesn’t — the awkward encounters are endless.

Even as they all file out sometime later, Grenn shoots him a pleading look that Jon is quick to slam the door shut on.

Once it’s locked, he turns, leaning against the door, and sighs as Dany fights a laugh. It escapes her anyway, a burst of giggles that’s too infectious for him to not join in.

“If it counts for anything, I _am_ sorry about them. I had no idea they’d turn into twelve-year-olds at the sight of one pretty girl.” The words tumble from his lips unbidden and before he knows it, he’s called her pretty, probably giving off the same vibe he’d antagonized Grenn for ( _even though she is! It’s just a fact!_ ) _._

Thankfully, her eyes only widen momentarily before she wiggles a flirty eyebrow at him, making him groan in embarrassment.

“They weren’t so bad,” she eventually insists while straightening out the couch cushions as he separates beer cans for recycling from other trash for the chute. “Definitely not as bad as my little encounter with… Ygritte, was it?”

He’d been wondering when she would bring that up because he certainly hadn’t wanted to. “I’m sorry about her too,” he begins earnestly. Honestly, if Dany hadn’t left that day, she definitely would have left for good if she’d heard the things that had left Ygritte’s mouth. “She can be…” _insanely fucking volatile and possessive?_ “…difficult. Trust me, that had nothing to do with _you_ , specifically.”

“So just because I’m a girl, she thinks I’m gonna steal you from her or something? _Seduce_ you?” she suggests with a mocking gasp. “Or is it you she doesn’t trust?”

The question is bold enough for him to be taken aback for a moment but that’s Dany for you. He shrugs and replies honestly, saying, “Probably both.”

“Mmm.” Although Jon senses she has more to add, the little hum of understanding is her only response.

They finish cleaning up, shifting to lighter topics like Satin’s crush and the godforsaken casserole she plans on making for dinner using leftover hotdogs, mac-and-cheese, tater tots, dip, and chips. The latter comes with what she thinks is a threat as she yells, “If you insult my beautiful casserole again, you will _not_ be getting any!”

Still, her little “ _Mmm_ ” won’t leave him be because he knows there’d been more to it and in trying to think up what it could be, he ends up wading way too deep into picking apart his relationship with Ygritte.

Worried about college admissions, Jon’s mom had tried to get him into Stuyvesant before starting highschool. However, as bright as he’d been, his extracurriculars had lacked and so with Stuyvesant being pretty much the ivy of public school, they’d sent him a fat rejection letter. And thus, he had ended up leaving his local, relatively shitty, public school district in Flatbush for The Browning School in Manhattan. She would never admit to it but Jon suspects his uncle had something to do with paying the insane tuition because as miracle-working as Lyanna Snow is, there is no way her nursing income can cover it _and_ rent.

Having been long since deemed old enough to ride the subway on his own, he would take the Q line up every morning and back in the afternoon. It’d happened to be on one of those afternoons in junior year when he and a surprisingly scary little redhead had argued over the last open seat in their car. He had _definitely_ gotten to it first and stands by it to this day but she’d fought him for the seat and somehow won, then ribbed him about it enough to win a smile from him too.

Over a 35 minute ride, they had gone from screaming to laughing to exchanging numbers. The progression of their relationship had happened similarly, seeing as they’d rushed through the talking phase and leaped straight to the making-out-in-the-ultra-romantic-Lexington-Ave-63rd-street-station-while-waiting-for-the-train-home phase in a matter of days.

And really, she is all Jon has known for over three years now because for all of her flaws, he knows he has his own to match. So why has the _hint_ of demurral from someone he’d met two weeks ago rattled him?

~

_**31 October** _

Halloween morning, Dany wakes up first to the blaring of her alarm and then to the sweet sound of a man panting and nearly grunting. Her sleep-addled brain immediately sends butterflies to her stomach and admittedly regions slightly more south too that have her turning onto her belly and groaning into her pillow.

And suddenly the beginnings of a decidedly filthy dream are cut short as the haze of sleep is snatched from her and her mind catches up, screaming, “ _It’s_ _Jon!_ ”. Next comes the absolute terror that she might just be overhearing her roommate with his girlfriend and _ohGodohGodIwon’teverbeabletolookhimintheeyeagain._

The thought leaves as quickly as it’d come, though, because, while Ygritte does sleep here more often than not, the bathroom is situated between Dany’s bedroom and Jon’s. Thankfully, it blocks any possible sounds from carrying into her room though Dany wouldn’t want to take her chances with showering or even being in the living room when she knows they’re in bed.

Besides, ( _albeit delicious,_ ) it’s the only sound she hears and it’s coming from just past her door. She knows Jon has the foresight and decency to not fuck in the living room where there’s only one chipboard-thin wall between them. It’s with that reassurance that she leaves the warmth of her bed, pulls on some pants, and, breath held, swings open the door.

And there he is, _working out_ , swiveling his sweaty head of hair towards her mid-push up. She must have spooked him because instead of his arms fully extending to bring him back up, they buckle and he collapses flat onto the floor at the sight of her.

“You okay?” she snorts, very much _not_ staring at his back muscles ripple in that skin-tight athletic shirt.

Huffing out a laugh while catching his breath, he nods and rolls onto his back. She figures she must have caused him to lose a long streak by how rapidly his chest is rising and falling and the way sweat mists his forehead and dampens his curls.

“How many reps today?”

“I hit the gym early so this was more of a post-lifting workout but that was 46 in my second set of 50,” he breathes.

“Holy shit.” And seriously, _holy shit_. Living with him has _almost_ pushed her to do more than just occasional yoga with Missandei. _Almost_.

He extends his hand to her and she grasps it to pull him up even though it’s still really him doing most of the work. “Are you showering now?”

“Yeah but you can go first if you want,” she offers.

Guzzling down some workout shake or other, he shakes his head.

“Is Ygritte still here?” While up studying for her Public Economics class, Dany had heard Ygritte come in late last night. Almost every night she hasn’t come over, Jon has slept at her’s. He’d told Dany the whole point of looking for a new roommate instead of asking Ygritte to move in had been that his apartment is on the opposite end of Manhattan from her classes so Dany figures this began once she moved in. An overly possessive ex or two has made her wary of things like this so she has to remind herself that it’s not her place to pass judgment on others’ relationships.

“Nah, she left with me this morning. Early class.”

She nods in understanding before remembering, “Oh, I’ve got some friends coming over today, Irri and Doreah. We’re gonna pick costumes and get ready here and I am positive they will have pregamed so consider this a warning. Doreah is not the type to back off even if you tell her you’ve got a girlfriend.”

“Noted,” he laughs, clearly thinking it’s an exaggeration.

So, when Doreah does come over and the exact scenario plays out before them, Jon and Dany share a knowing smile over her shoulder.

“C’mon Doreah, you have to pick,” she urges, diverting her attention from Jon to finally settle on a costume from their collective pile. “You’ve narrowed it down to sexy nun, sexy sailor, and sexy Tinkerbell.”

Her efforts, however, are in vain because she immediately slurs, “Why don’t we ask Professor Jonnnn? Which would I look better in, Professor?”

He only groans good-naturedly, definitely regretting revealing his career goals to her when she’d asked.

Luckily, Irri cuts in and distracts her as Dany frantically motions for Jon to go hide away in his room. “I think you’d kill sexy nun and Dany’s got the perfect hair for Tink.”

“Ugh you’re right, I would.”

They help each other out, applying bits of makeup and pinning hair in place and zipping up the stupid costumes, all between Dany catching up with some shots of the shitty vodka they’d brought. The itty bitty, skin-tight, green dress ends just below her ass but it becomes less and less of a problem as more alcohol burns through her system. Plus, whenever she tugs it down, Doreah ruches it back up, claiming, “It makes your body look fucking insane, you bitch.”

As their Uber gets closer and they apply their last touch-ups of lip gloss, she knocks on Jon’s door to let him know she might just crash at Irri’s tonight but she’s sharing her location with him regardless.

The entire time she speaks, however, his steely eyes are flitting from her pompomed feet to his phone to the door jambs to basically anywhere that isn’t _her_ and she’s eternally grateful for her friends’ timing as they drag her out the door before she— _the vodka_ can say anything wildly inappropriate.

~

**_14 November_ **

Jon has an online study job at Columbia’s urban research center and it seems as if for each day consecutive day he works there, another responsibility is thrown his way. That combined with professors piling on assignment after assignment in the weeks leading up to their Thanksgiving break means it’d been another late night of guzzling coffee and getting shit done.

He had spent most of it sprawled across the living room floor with Dany, surrounded by a mess of their textbooks, binders, notes, and whatnot. She’s in the same shoes as him, drowning under work with neither of their bedrooms being big enough to fit a sizable bed, a dresser, _and_ a desk.

So, it’s around noon when a shriek jolts him awake. He’s about to stumble out of bed to find out what the hell Dany has set on fire now (it’d been the oven last week and her curtains the week before) when it’s followed by a shrill, “Jon Snow, you were a _jock_?!”

At that he slumps back onto his pillow and laughs, rubbing his hand down his face in an attempt to wipe the sleep away. He’d forgotten they’d finally followed each other on Instagram sometime last night so she must’ve stalked his profile, as is customary.

And before he knows it, she barges into his room, a blur of bouncing silver waves leaping onto his bed, her smile shocked and huge.

“Are you really surprised? I went to _Browning_. I thought a Trinity girl would know.”

“Still!” she scoffs. “I’ve heard some stories about Browning jocks and you are _so_ unlike any of them.”

“Not fucking full of yourself and slightly neurotic?” As much as the school prides itself on turning young boys into so-called immaculate gentlemen, the locker rooms are a different world entirely.

“ _Well_ …” He’d seen it coming but still snorts, making her giggle.

“My cousin was in the same year as me and wanted me to try out for their ice hockey team and I guess I ending up doing okay.”

“You were made team captain your junior year, Jon” she deadpans.

 _Wow, she’d really done her digging_. He would berate her for it if he didn’t plan on doing the same with her Instagram later. So, he just shrugs and finally sits up.

“Ew you wore your coffee shirt to bed?” he exclaims instead.

“I was tired!” she yells back, scarily defensive. “And would you _please_ remind me who it was that got coffee on my shirt in the first place?”

“Can’t recall but he sounds like an asshole. Let’s go jump the bastard.”

She laughs that stupid bubbly laugh of hers before chucking a pillow at him.

He throws it back, perhaps just a little too hard because it knocks her backward where she’d been sitting at the foot of his bed. The back of her hand goes to her forehead all ‘ _woe is me’_ but she’s still grinning.

The placement of his window makes it so the morning sun can peek in through the blinds and paint golden stripes across her face, hitting her eyes just right and making them glow like sapphires — actually, they somehow look more like amethysts. Jon’s so transfixed by the color, so unique and fascinating, that he doesn’t notice the room slowly go silent, the air between them thick.

He forces his eyes away as soon as the realization hits, followed by ice-cold guilt that drenches him.

She must sense the shift too. He reads it in the sudden stiffness of her smile and the tension in her shoulders as she clears her throat and climbs off the bed.

Before leaving, she turns and asks, “I’m gonna microwave the pizza from like two days ago for breakfast. You want?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he sighs in reply.

~

**_25 December_ **

Thanksgiving had nearly pushed her here but it’s Christmas that finally does her in.

Even though Jon’s inner to-be sociology professor becomes raving mad at any mention of Thanksgiving, he’d left the apartment to Dany all weekend to go spend it with his family. She had invited Missandei over, who’d immediately brightened her mood by pulling up with junk food and illegally downloaded versions of _Sister Act 1_ and _2_ in tow.

Christmas, however, forces her to confront a lot of the things she’s successfully avoided thus far. There’s simply no escaping the holidays in New York meaning there’s no escaping the confusing feelings it brings either. The reality that she has abandoned her only remaining family hurts more than it should given the circumstances under which she’d left. Still, each reminder, each jolly fucking string of lights and wreath and bauble and angel hurts like hell.

Dany can’t help but hold onto how it had been and neglect how it is now. While she’d always felt an underlying resentment for taking his mother from his so young, Viserys had still once been kind. He would read her stories and play invented games with her and hold her hand as they would clumsily skate to the park; they’d even grieved together when their father had passed away not so long ago.

But business had declined in the years after his death in Vis’s inexperienced yet stupidly arrogant hands. The frustration from that’d given bloom to the nasty side of him which had only ever come out in arguments or petty fights as children. That ugly head of bitterness and resentment had reared at her every other moment near the end.

Nevertheless, that Viserys seems to vanish in her mind as she hurries home from class, every tree lining College Walk decked out with glimmering lights. All she can think about is how, even if she has Missandei, Irri, Doreah, Rakharo, and Jon, the sweet brother from her childhood, that’s got to still exist in him somewhere, has _no one_ during the time of year meant for family.

Jon notices something is off before she even realizes she’s acting differently.

He asks about it twice and both times Dany brushes it off as finals stress but he reads her like a book. He clearly doesn’t believe her but she’s thankful when he doesn’t push her on it, just acknowledges her dampened mood by being extra nice — letting her shower first to get all the hot water, giving her the bigger half of the mini cheesecake he brings home one night, and facing their lone electric heater towards her couch when both radiators (unsurprisingly) stop working and they have to sleep in the living room.

They celebrate Christmas early the day the fall term ends with a white elephant, all of his friends and hers piled into their little apartment. She receives a lovely candle with Jesus on the front except it isn’t Jesus, it’s Beyoncé but really the best thing about the evening is the clash of their very disparate friend groups. She sees Sam and Gilly after forever, Doreah replaces her as the target of Grenn’s horniness, Missandei’s Dominican boyfriend, Grey, teaches everyone Spanish cuss words, and Ygritte sits in Jon’s lap the entire time like a literal toddler, which Dany finds a little too hilarious.

Ygritte stays with them until the morning of Christmas Eve before she leaves for her family and Jon leaves for his. It all happens before Dany wakes up, thankful to be spared from all the glares and backhanded compliments that would inevitably have been thrown at her way ( _“It must be_ so _nice to just chill here by yourself and not have to deal with your family or your boyfriend’s family this time of year, right?”_ ).

That day and the beginning of the next go by in a sad blur of shows about tiny houses and foods with deathly high sodium contents.

When Jon comes home around noon on Christmas day, he finds her cocooned in blankets, lying on the couch and facing the TV. He stares at her for a moment before he finally speaks, his question far from what she’d been expecting.

“Have you got any fancy dresses?”

“What?” she asks, looking away from the screen for the first time in hours.

“My aunt and uncle throw this big dinner every Christmas and my mom’s forced me to go for the last five. It’s never been my thing but the foods always amazing,” he shrugs, coming off much more nonchalant than she takes him to be.

“And you want me to come?”

“Sure. Sam usually comes but he’s celebrating with Gilly and Ygritte is at her folks’ unstate so….”

“Ah, so this way I’ll have a head start before your girlfriend comes after me with an ax or something,” she (sort of) jokes before adding, “and you right after, probably.”

She’s glad he cuts the “ _She’s not as bad as you think, I swear,_ ” talk and gets straight to admitting, “Yeah, I’m not telling her. But hey, it’s nothing like that. Sam comes every year so they’ll be expecting someone with me anyway. Plus, you’d be doing me a favor — my aunt’s a _cunt_ to me and my mom but she’s an absolute fucking angel around strangers.”

He draws the first laugh from her in perhaps the entire month of December and it pushes her to agree. “Fine. Since you’re so _desperate_ for company on Christmas.”

Jon just rolls his eyes and tells her to go put on something nice, which, with her wardrobe, is no issue at all.

He has spoken about the apartment he’d grown up in with its list of infestations and issues often so she’s confused when he says their cab is taking them all the way to Sands Point, Long Island. It’s nothing, however, to her shock when his uncle’s house finally comes into view. Honestly, her jaw had dropped the moment they’d entered the neighborhood.

“Oh my God, Jon,” she whispers as they tip their driver and climb out. A stone driveway lined by crimson queen maples leads up to the house, if it can even be called that. It’s _massive_ and the facade is entirely stone, bedazzled with Christmas lights that are obviously professionally done.

“Okay, Daenerys Targaryen,” he jabs playfully. “Doesn’t your family own an island?”

“Dragonstone is mostly for wildlife preservation purposes!”

“Dany.”

“Okay, yes, but all of our houses are somewhat _normal_. This is a _palace_.”

“I know,” he laughs. “I’m almost glad my mom didn’t raise me here, though. She got pregnant with me and moved out at 19 so I know it was hard, more so for her than me, but my cousins are just so _weird_. I mean some are alright — Arya’s my favorite and Rickon’s still little — but Sansa, Bran, and sometimes even Robb just get on my nerves.”

She suddenly has flashbacks to her school days and can only hope that they’re not as deranged as the high society kids her father used to push her towards. “How so?”

He only smirks and replies with, “You’ll see,” and oh, she does.

While Jon’s uncle and cousin Arya are perfectly amenable and his mother is as kind and funny and crazy-but-in-the-cool-way as he always describes her, the rest of them remind Dany of the worst parts of her ‘past life.’

A sweet, smiling man named Hodor takes their coats as they enter just in time for dinner. It’s late by some of his family’s standards, which they aren’t afraid to let him know. It’s perfect according to Jon’s, however, who whispers to her that it means they can attain the most profit (food) at the least cost (unsolicited commentary and life advice). Dinner is as delicious as promised, the grand dining table covered in so many dishes, it looks like it belongs at Hogwarts. It’s hard to swallow, though, when every smile and pleasantry exchanged at the table is forced.

As much as Jon tries to brighten her evening with sarcastic quips that she discovers are very much from his mom, his Aunt Cat ensures that the atmosphere is one she’s all too familiar with: posh people with their gilded dispositions talking in circles about absolutely nothing but managing to make it implicitly rude. And so, her mind drifts on back to Viserys.

He would hate to be in this room, his temper far too short and ego far too large to ever have a knack for things like this. Pushing her steak around the plate, she can’t help but picture him now, probably drinking himself into a stupor at his minibar, only illuminated by the cars and decorations hundreds of feet below.

After dessert is served, she excuses herself to shoot him a text, the first since the disagreement that’d made her fold and seek out a new home. After minutes of typing and deleting, she hits _send_ on a simple, “merry christmas, vis” message before she can find a reason to change it. It immediately goes to undelivered, however, letting her know that he has blocked her number. Perhaps it’s terrible of her to think so but the knowledge, implying that he doesn’t _want_ her there, slightly alleviates the guilt that’s cloaked her all month.

Sighing, she makes her way back to the lounge area where everyone had relocated after dinner. Sansa is playing a happy carol on the grand piano while others sing along and Arya and her boyfriend dance awfully, their genuine laughter refreshing. The whole scene is out of a fucking feel-good Christmas movie.

As she takes up the seat on the couch beside Jon and Lyanna, her mind is elsewhere entirely.

Most Christmasses had been spent just her and Viserys, their father off on some business trip (a broad term) and all their house staff, who she’d considered family, with their actual families. As children, though, Vis would never let her feel their absence. He’d take her to see window displays all over the city, letting her sit on his shoulders if she couldn’t see over the crowds. They would often stay awake all night to watch Christmas movies in the home theater. One year, they’d even attempted to decorate their tree themselves instead of just letting professionals come do it. The mess they’d made had gotten them grounded for a week but it’s a cherished memory all the same. All these thoughts make the slight relief from the undelivered text crumble through her fingers.

It’s then that Jon nudges her knee with his and she finds him looking over at her, concern heavy on his brow. “You wanna go somewhere else? We can talk about it if you want.”

She intends on saying no but finds her head nodding yes.

He guides her through the maze of wood-paneled hallways until they reach a sunroom with floor to ceiling windows facing the Long Island Sound. It stretches on until it meets the clear sky and the rising moon creates shimmering reflections on its waves. She’s mesmerized by the sight until the sound of Jon pushing around a sofa to face the water reminds her of his presence.

Sinking into its downy cushions beside him, she could probably cry — not for Viserys but out of gratitude for Jon. He knows her so well to have brought her here whereas anyone else would’ve insisted they join Arya and Gendry, claiming it would make her happy.

“Is it about your brother?” he prompts gently, voice barely more than a whisper.

Surprising herself once more, Dany wrenches open the floodgates and lets it all pour out, from her birth taking Vis’s mother from him to the bouts of screaming between games as children to his steady descent after their father’s death to the ultimate threshold he’d crossed back in September.

“I think there is something clinically wrong with him, Jon, because I got home from class one day mid-September for him to hand me a _marriage license application_.”

Jon’s bewilderment and disgust are plain on his face even in the lack of light before she turns to face the water.

“It was this weird Gatsby-like man in Kings Point named Khal who has an insane amount of wealth but no one really knows how he got it. He’s 40-something-years-old, a _financier_ with a sick fetish for girls much younger than him and he spotted me at a gala. He tried to ask me out but, of course, I said no and Viserys even agreed at the time that he was a creep.

“But a week or so later, his board threatened to replace him and I think the thought of being switched out for our first non-Targaryen CEO sent him into another episode. I don’t know what the hell was going through his mind — it was all so _bizarre_ — but he set some documents in front of me and shoved a pen into my hand, all while screaming about sacrifice and family and legacy. I’m pretty sure he’d brokered some deal with Khal to literally sell me off like it was the Middle fucking Ages.”

She hears Jon such in a breath beside her but keeps her eyes fixed on the horizon, afraid that she won’t be able to power through if she looks at him.

“That was the night Missandei helped me find Sam’s listing. It took about a week to placate Vis while I went behind his back to pack, get a new phone contract, a new bank account, a new everything, and… yeah.”

“What the fuck, Dany,” he finally breathes. “What the _fuck_. Has he been trying to contact you?”

Realizing he thinks that’s why her mood’s been off lately, she shakes her head. “No, it’s just… the holidays. That sounds lame, especially after everything I just told you but he used to always make this time of year so special for me and I can’t help but think that _that_ Vis is still somewhere in there and he’s all alone because I ran away from him instead of seeking him out,” she finishes at a strained whisper. Voicing all that’s been tormenting her for weeks brings more pain than relief.

“Look at me, Dany. Listen to me.”

The commanding tone of his voice trickles shivers down her spine but its urgency forces her eyes from the sea and into his, their dark color similarly comforting.

“He doesn’t deserve shit besides maybe medical intervention.”

For some reason, that causes a raspy laugh to burst from her.

“I mean it,” he insists, lips twitching as he tries to fight a smile of his own. “But he’s still a piece of shit and the only reason why he’s by himself now is that he’s _not_ that person you remember anymore. His own actions brought him where he is so don’t blame yourself for anything. You should be proud of yourself for having the guts to leave and I know our apartment doesn’t win many— _any_ prizes but I’m _so_ fucking glad you found it.”

“I’m glad I found it too,” she echoes earnestly.

A comfortable silence ensues with only the faint notes of the piano humming in the air until she breaks it to whisper, “Thank you, Jon.” It’s not really their _thing_ to be so soft and emotive with one another but it still feels like something she needs to express.

“You don’t have to thank me for shit like this,” he responds with a playful shove but she knows he accepts it anyway.

The half lite door behind them squeaks open and they turn to find Lyanna peaking in, a scowl on her face. “Jon Snow, did I just see you push my Dany?”

They share a laugh while Jon rolls his eyes.

“Now c’mon you two, Catelyn’s brought eggnog out for everyone and I found the perfect brandy to spike it with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this got a little senti at the end but the regularly scheduled clownery will be back next chapter!
> 
> hope you guys still liked it tho!! gimme all ur thoughts <3
> 
> (also sorry for any grammar errors i started editing it and got half way through before my patience ran out oops)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo :)) this is a very minor change but i realized jon having a work-study job was dumb because how tf would he pay rent and stuff so yeah i went back and fixed that! i also want to point out that the date at the beginning of each section is the date of when that section ends because the beginning usually just leads up to it.
> 
> that's all ! i hope you enjoy <3

_**1 January** _

Jon doesn’t know how many parties he’s been dragged to by the time he and Ygritte are finally stumbling up the stairs to her dorm room. They seem to be shifting under his feet so it takes extra determination but they make it to her door in one piece.

She’d essentially bullied her timid roommate into moving out at the start of term in order to get a single room and yes, it’s wrong, but he can’t complain when the two twin beds pushed together to form a king look so inviting.

The new year had rung in hours ago and even though going out has never been his thing, he’d trudged to party after party, his girlfriend pulling him along by one hand and a water bottle filled with vodka glued into the other.

He turns to her now, sprawled out on the floor and bent over to undo the laces of her beat-up kicks. It feels like it's around negative eight degrees outside but she’s in jeans with more holes than denim and a scanty little top that she would sneer at other girls for wearing. He’d point out the irony but doesn’t want her ire directed towards him instead so he just pulls her up into his arms and whispers sweet words about how amazing she looks.

“Do I?”

He would’ve taken it as teasing if her easy grin hadn’t turned hard and her tone just a bit too clipped.

“More than that blonde you were checking out in the hallway?”

 _Here we go again._ “‘You for real? _What_ blonde?” he questions, exasperated and genuinely confused.

“Don’t you— don’t even pretend, Jon,” she scoffs, twisting away from him while the alcohol makes her sway on her feet. “I think we both know you’ve had a thing for blondes lately.”

A moment passes as he only blinks at her and her accusation has yet to register but exhaustion bears down on him the moment it does. “I’m not fucking doing this again.”

“You think I _want_ to bring this up?” she cries, stepping closer and peering up at him with ferocity in her eyes.

Their ocean blue has turned icy but he knows it’s more out of hurt than malice, that while her suspicions and fears are unfounded, nothing he says will make them feel any less real to her. A couple of swigs of his bottle ago, he would have sat her down and tried his best to banish them regardless but his patience has run thin with each successive drop of alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Yes!” he answers against his better judgment. “I do, I really fucking think you do!”

Her responding sigh is anything but tired, her smirk a dare. “And you know what I think?” she murmurs. “I think you’re more like your daddy than you wanna admit to yourself, Jon.”

She might as well have physically struck him given how forcefully all air leaves his lungs. It’s no longer just her and her temper spewing hurtful shit during a fight without thinking about it or meaning it. It’s deliberate and deep — she _knows_ and she _still_ ….

His shock morphs into hurt and that hurt gives way to rage, eruptive and all-consuming. With a maddened growl, he pushes past her and out the room before any of the expletives raving through his mind can leave his drunken lips.

He survives the unsteady stairs again and stomps back into the biting wind, her words mocking him with each step he takes to get away. He has taken this route home a million times before but spends way too long trying to find the green stairs leading down into the subway. It’s so brick out that the hot, musty gust of gross that hits him is almost a comfort.

All the square tiles make his head hurt and somehow fuck his coordination up even more but he makes it onto a train. Ensuring that it’s the correct one is only an afterthought as he grasps an open pole near the back of the car, happy to discover the bottle still in his hand. Everyone around is in a similar state so embarrassment evades him when an abrupt stop slams him against the grimy back window. He also feels like asking someone if he’d imagined the rat that got on at Penn Station and off at the Port Authority but decides against it, suddenly terrified he’d been slipped an entirely different intoxicant.

Against all odds, though, he lives to reach his apartment. Flakes of chipped red paint probably stick to his forehead as he rests it against the door, needing stability and focus to open both locks.

He finds the place is illuminated only by the city outside the living room window but it’s bright enough for him to spot the heap of blankets on the rug. Suspecting it to be Dany, he nudged the thing with his foot and finds he’s correct when it emits an annoyed, sleepy, “Hmmngh… what was that for?”

“Go to bed, Dany,” he whispers even though the rug does look dumb comfortable right now.

“‘S warmer here,” she mumbles back.

He blindly makes his way into her room to check if her radiator has stopped working again but finds warmth hitting his hovering hand. “The radiator’s on!” he calls out, hoping she hasn’t fallen asleep again. When there’s no reply, he makes his way back out and nudges her again.

She turns onto her back, pulling the knit throw down enough to show him the displeasure etched in her expression. He also finds that her makeup is still on, her setting spray (that she won’t shut the fuck up about) clearly having done its job.

Despite her apparent irritation, she takes his hand when he extends it to help her up. His mouth goes dry the second she does, though, because the throw slides to the floor to reveal her outfit, absolute sin draped over her body

She’s still got her fluffy, pink, faux fur jacket on over the shimmering crystals adorning her underneath. Her little nap has mussed it all up a bit, the jacket hanging off one shoulder and the cowl neck of the dress revealing the edge of some weird boob tape, but Jesus, it should be criminal to still look like _that_ after partying the whole night whereas he probably looks like he resides outside a bodega.

_“And you know what I think? I think you’re more like your daddy than you wanna admit to yourself, Jon.”_

Shaking his head, he goes behind her to grab a shoulder with each hand and march her towards the bathroom. She’s so drunk, tripping over her own bare feet twice in the ten feet they cross, that it makes _him_ feel sober.

“Go on, do your whole skinrare… skincare routine. You’ll be a bitch the whole day tomorrow if I let you sleep with your makeup on,” he says when they finally make it, speaking from experience.

She whines and complains but eventually listens.

After one last reminder to change into pajamas if she doesn’t want little square chrystals imprinted into her skin by morning, he bids her goodnight only to collapse in the clothes he’d been in all night the moment he reaches his own bed.

As sleep beckons him, his last conscious thought is, “ _Fucking hell, she was right._ ”

_**3 January** _

The first thing she feels upon waking up is the coarseness in her throat and the next is a tightness in her stomach and chest that has her blindly sprinting to the bathroom.

Her vision goes black the moment she’s up but, slapping the wall as she goes so to not run into it, she makes it just in time to empty the few contents of her stomach into the toilet. It’s all acrid bile, burning her from the inside out and bringing tears to her eyes and making her regret every decision taken last night to have brought her here.

She somewhat registers the sound of hurried footsteps getting closer before gentle fingers are combing her hair back and a soft, pity-filled, “Oh, Dany,” is whispered into her ear.

When all she can cough up is air from her convulsing lungs, Jon flushes the toilet and gets her some water. “Here, you need to stay hydrated,” he lightly urges, pressing the cool glass into her shaking hand and keeping it there to steady it.

Despite this being the least romantic situation there is, with her slouched against the bathroom wall, tear marks streaking down her cheeks, the feel of his fingers covering hers and his kind eyes watching to make sure she finishes the whole glass sip by sip makes her stomach twist (the good kind this time). _I need to get over this. I really,_ really _need to get over this._

Eventually, Jon helps her off the floor and she’s hit with a blurry memory of him doing the same last night. Even though he doesn’t look much better for wear, he tells her to rest while he goes down to “grab some fruit and stuff.”

Once he’s gone, though, the warmth of her bed and silence of early morning pull her back under. The next time she wakes up, it’s to find peaches and crackers and ibuprofen on her nightstand, a whole array of half-empty takeout boxes from Hot Pie’s in the kitchen, and no roommate to be found. When she goes to check her phone for any postable pictures, she finds two texts from him that say “ _hey i’ll be back tomorrow probably_ ” and “ _or actually sunday?_ ”

As promised, the whole weekend passes with no sight or sound from Jon.

She spends that Saturday healing her hangover and curating a list of new year's resolutions in which ‘just move on and get a boyfriend’ takes the top spot.

The first big snowstorm of the year hits early Sunday morning, a thick blanket of white already having descended by sunrise. She texts Missandei, asking if she would like to take advantage of its beauty before the city turns it into slippery, wet, brownish-grey sludge.

They end up at Morningside Park merely out of convenience. It’s packed, little children in puffy, colorful jackets and hats polka dotting the snow-covered lawns, their sleds striping each hill. Again, she thinks of Viserys and their own snow-day antics but the pang in her heart is duller now, the remorse she feels much more _for_ him rather than _because of_ her.

And besides, Missandei complains too much about the cold for them to stay for hardly more than ten minutes.

“I can’t believe you Americans drink this,” she mutters into her cup of hot chocolate before, of course, taking another sip from it. Dany had dragged her into a little cafe before parting ways, Missandei heading to Grey’s and Dany back to her own place. “It’s just sugar and chocolate and _water_. Where are the spices? The creaminess? The _richness_?”

By the time Dany makes it back, the warm feeling from both the cocoa and Missandei has long-since dissipated. The hallway carpet squelches under her feet as she wrests her door open, a happy sigh already on her lips. It dissolves, however, when she finds Jon is back and looks… _well_ ….

He stretched out across the couch, drowning in black sweatpants and a Columbia hoodie with the hood drawn up to frame his face, weary and puffy and red around the nose.

“Are you okay?” she blurts out.

“Mhmm.” He pulls his eyes from the TV — which isn’t even _on_ — to look at her. “Why?”

“Because you look like shit,” she laughs, glad when it coaxes a reluctant smile from him. Of course, it’s not completely true because it’s physically impossible for Jon Snow to not look like he’d been carved by Michelangelo himself but _still_.

“Thanks, Dany.”

She kicks off her wet boots and goes to him, still bundled in her coat, scarf, gloves, and all. “What’s wrong?” she asks, softer this time as she leans against the back of the couch.

He grimaces and rubs a hand down his face before attempting to answer. “I… I uhhh….”

She would have been worried if he had looked anything but utterly worn out. “Where did you go?” she tries instead.

He sighs, staring at the ugly popcorn ceiling behind her head instead of meeting her eyes as he says, “I spent my entire last paycheck on a nice ass hotel room and Ygritte and I sort of just… spent the weekend breaking up.”

“I— you _what_?” Between the disbelief, she waits for her heart to beat faster and sing with the petty sort of joy that comes with having someone you like finally be single… and yet it never does. She only sees the loving glances he would throw Ygritte’s way when she wasn’t looking and how, once they decided on a takeout place, he would never have to ask her what she wanted to order because he’d long since memorized her favorites, and the mere fact of how _deeply_ (and somewhat annoyingly) ingrained they’d been in each other's lives.

He laughs but there’s little humor in any of it. “We weren’t— it wasn’t working anymore so I just went to her and she agreed and we decided we needed to get away for a bit…. Did the whole talking, yelling, fucking, apologizing, crying thing and honestly it was probably the healthiest choice we’ve made in… three years?” He winces. “God, it’s almost _four_. It would have been in March.”

These moments where they aren’t cracking reckless jokes with one another are few and far in between so she’s slightly dumbfounded on what to say besides a faint yet weighty, “I’m sorry.”

A dry, “Yeah?” is his only response and she tenses, suddenly afraid he knows all about her dumb crush until he adds, “You won’t have to front like you like her anymore.”

Although there’s no denying it, she knows him well enough to know he’s ribbing her but still delivers a punch to his bicep. “What the fuck, Jon — of _course_ I’m sorry.”

He only looks up at her and smiles one of his stupid, dangerous smiles, the corners of his lips twitching as he fights it before just giving in with a small, “Okay,” that melts her.

_**12 January** _

He’s drunk again and he misses her and fucking hell, he’s drunk again.

They’d broken up as perfectly as one could, ending it on clear terms with no malice between them and a final goodbye at the corner of 5th and 53rd. But of course, he’d forgotten about all her stuff still at his place and all of his at her’s, tapering that goodbye until he could throw it all in a box and get it to her. He’d spent as little time handling each item as possible while she, no doubt, had done the same and then it’d sat there for over a week before they could work up the will to meet and exchange their things.

But that had been hours ago and now he’s being led into his apartment by an increasingly annoyed Edd who isn’t any less drunk. With a comically sympathetic pat on the shoulder, he dumps Jon into his apartment and hurries back out, muttering something about an Uber.

Jon goes to the kitchen and smacks the wall until his hand lands upon the light switch. It washes the tiny space in a putrid yellow that hurts his eyes but he knows he needs it if he’s to get a glass from the cabinet and fill it up without breaking or spilling anything. He doesn’t realize how loud he’s being, slamming the cabinet shut, setting the glass into the sink, and then rifling through the drawers in search of the little bottle of generic ibuprofen, until he realizes he’s woken Dany.

She’s peering into the kitchen, eyes squinted against the light, as she asks, “‘You good?”

“Fuck. I’m… _so_ sorry, Dany. I thought I was being quiet.”

She eyes him for a moment before her pursed lips split into a wide smile, a laugh already forming.

He doesn’t know what’s so funny but still joins her. It only makes her laugh more, throwing her head back as she does.

“Why are you laughing? Do you even know why _I_ am?”

“No,” he answers simply, honestly. “I just really like it when you do.”

Her plump bottom lip is sucked between her teeth and he’s fucking mesmerized as it slowly drags back out, an even more tantalizing shade of pink than before.

He’s shaken from his stupor, however, when she pokes his chest and says, “Look at your shirt, bighead.”

 _Oh, that_. He doesn’t even have to look down to remember that his white V-neck is doused in blue jungle juice, the same that also trails from his hands to his elbows — nearly dried by now, he can feel it’s sticky, viscous evidence with every little shift. He looks down anyway, apparently a bit too fast because the sudden movement somehow fucks up his balance and has him stumbling back until he meets the wall.

Before she can ask, Jon tells her he’s fine but still slides down until he reaches the tacky, linoleum floor, afraid that in trying to recollect himself, he’ll just feel drunker and inevitably bang into something in what little room he has.

“You’re not fine,” she counters even though he obviously is. “Come one, we need to get this goo off of you, or else you’ll end up getting it everywhere and staining your sheets.”

He’s too busy focusing on all the vertical lines of the cabinets swaying like seagrass to notice her step closer and extend both hands out to him. He grasps them anyway and has half a mind to pull her down onto him, nearly overcome with the irrational urge to just fucking hold her, but decides against it and lets her haul him up.

God, the light in the bathroom is even worse, a glaringly bright white that he swears he can _hear_.

He leans against the sink and watches Dany’s eyes in the mirror, shifting from his shirt to the showerhead as if contemplating something. Even now, without a speck of makeup on her face and the fluorescent light making spots dance across his vision, they’re the most magnificent things he’s ever fucking seen. And it’s not just their color, though he could probably write a dissertation on it, but their round, doeiness too, along with the softness of her gaze as it meets his in the mirror now.

“Alright, you,” she chuckles, breaking eye contact. “Let’s get this shirt off and in the trash and _you_ in the shower.”

 _Well, I don’t need to be told twice_. In a move that is just slightly odee, he tears it from the neck, the thin cotton splitting down the center of his torso (“ _Did you see that, Dany? I’m like fucking Superman_.”)

She yelps when he goes to do his jeans next, declaring, “No, we leave those _on_!” as if he’d been taking off his boxers too — he’s not _that_ drunk, though he immediately begins questioning that as soon as he steps into the tub.

The cool water (the valve is on ‘hot’ but their water heater sucks) trickles over his body and steals his breath for a moment but does nothing to sober him up, just makes him cold along with drunk and pretty quickly, he finds his eyes sliding shut. He sighs at the dark reprieve behind his eyelids where everything isn’t as bright and unstable as the world beyond them but only a few moments in, Dany is patting his cheek to make him open them back up.

“You’re gonna fall and hit your head if you close your eyes, Jon. Would it help to sit down?” she implores gently and he finds himself nodding.

With his forearms now braced against the edge of the tub and his chin resting on top, he groans. “I’ve got the spinsssss, Dany.”

“Well who told you to drink so much?”

“Not helping.”

He hears her sigh before saying, “Open your eyes for me.”

It seems taxing but how is he supposed to say no to _for me_? As he blinks his eyelids open, he finds it isn’t so bad after all, bringing a lopsided grin to his lips.

“Now sit back,” she commands and he decides he quite likes Dany ordering him around.

She then plants a loofah lathered with sudsy soap into his hand, making sure to close his fingers around it, all while mumbling, “It’s dry so it’s gonna have to be scrubbed off but I don’t… just— here, _you_ do it.”

Her scowl slowly lifts into a smile, small but bright and etching a half-dimple onto her right cheek. Her eyes are kind too, sliding from where he’s running the loofah in lazy swipes across his chest up to pour into his, and he’s hit with the awareness of how fucking amazing this girl is. A blind man could see that she’s beautiful and it’s a fact he’s tried to deny since the day he had met her but he’s impossibly far past that at this point, so enamored in everything about her that he’d ventured out beyond the edge and had forgotten to look down.

And suddenly, she’s moving closer — _Or is it me?_ — the showerhead misting beads onto the pale wisps that escape her low bun, hooded eyes darting to his lips while her own part just so as his hand up comes to—

He realizes Dany hadn’t really moved at all when she jerks away and the water sluicing down his body becomes ice cold and it’s frozen fingers dive into his chest and squeeze his heart.

Every thought leaves his brain except that the spins are back and he might just vomit so he’s glad that if either of them has to speak up, she chooses to do so.

“I’m not… I’m not gonna be your rebound, Jon,” she whispers, barely audible over the sound of water hitting the tub and his heart pounding in his ears. “I can’t be the girl you hook up with drunk off your ass hoping it’ll make you get over her.”

He wants to object and confess and howl that _no_ , that is not what he’s doing or could ever even _think_ to do because Ygritte had been the farthest fucking thing in his mind before she’d brought her up but words fail him and he can only blink at her dumbly, nodding a little but mostly just focusing on inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling.

“God, you probably won’t even remember this… I _hope_ you don’t remember this.”

“Alright.” He doesn’t really know why he says it — perhaps as some sort of promise to not remember because he’s not sure he wants to either. “I’m sorry.”

The fucking angel that she is, Dany just rolls her eyes and smiles and flicks water his way, saying, “Don’t be, you goof.”

She then reminds him to get his arms too while she grabs him a towel and clean clothes to sleep in before leaving so he can dry himself off and change into them. He doesn’t think it’s ever taken him this long to get off a goddamn pair of jeans but the wet denim is plastered to his skin and he almost panics feeling like he’s never going to get it off but, of course, he does and pulls on the sweats she’d brought him.

The world is still tilting every which way when he makes it to his bed but it’s comforting now, rocking him to the type of deep sleep that only borderline alcohol poisoning can bring.

It’s peaceful until late morning when he is jolted awake by a horrifyingly vivid nightmare in which he’d tried to make a move on his roommate.

He quickly deduces the thing where only your head hurts after a long night of drinking is a myth because his whole body feels like it’d been run through a meat grinder. It pains him to do so but tries to remember all he can, a montage of the party, the jungle juice, and Edd’s shoulder supporting him on the walk home running through his mind. He can even recall bits of Dany helping him into the shower and decides he really, _really_ owes her some thanks and probably a good apology too.

She knocks and comes in sometime later and the pity on her face tells him all he needs to know about just how drunk he’d been. She lingers by the foot of his bed, arms crossed as she asks, “How are you doing?”

It feels too much like he’s being visited in his sickbed so he pats the space beside him, telling her to sit, and rolls over to give her room. The involuntary groan as he does so answers for him.

“Maybe don’t drink yourself to the point of almost passing out next time you run into her?”

Well, at least the alcohol had done its job by making him forget _that_ for a little while.

“And you know what they say about a bad break up...” she continues with an amusingly suggestive lilt to her voice.

“It wasn't a _bad_ break—”

“The best way to get over someone is by getting und ~~e~~ r someone else.”

At this, he manages to lift his pounding head off the pillow to look at her bemusedly, raising an eyebrow as if to say, ‘ _Seriously_?’

"Val from the second floor asked about you when I was getting our mail just now. Jon, that girl _likes-_ likes you," she says.

All he can do is shake his head and wheeze out a laugh, positive that she’s exaggerating.

At his lack of enthusiasm, Dany nudges his shoulder and adds, “She isn’t so bad. She’s gotta be smart if she goes to Columbia and she’s deadass _gorgeous_. Have you seen the rack on that one?”

“Oh my _god_ , Dany,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut because yes, he has, but no, he still wouldn’t go for her.

“So, what — you’re not into blondes?” He squints one eye open to find her twirling a strand of that unreal hair between her nimble fingers, clearly fighting a laugh.

Her tone is teasing but it too-loudly echoes what Ygritte had spat at him the night it’d all went to shit for him to find much humor in it.

 _She’s gonna be the death of me. She’s one of my closest friends and she’s gonna be the death of me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooOooOoOooooh
> 
> okay so i know it's a lot of drunk!jon but what else is a boy gonna do during winter break especially after breaking up with his girl? lol i hope you guys liked it!! your comments are always the loveliest and i am so grateful :(
> 
> if anyone's interested, i'll post a pic of dany's new years eve dress on my tumblr in the moodboard for this chapter so come say hi! its @reddoorandlemontree too.
> 
> also, i've been updating this around every 2 weeks but i can't promise to have the next chapter up so soon because i'll be participating in jonerys week this year (eeeeeee) and want to have everything for that done before time! this is just a heads up pls don't be mad lmao i miss writing canon divergence


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